


Unbound

by grumblesandmumbles



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Soulmate AU, Soulmates, anti-soulmate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 16:56:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9334259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumblesandmumbles/pseuds/grumblesandmumbles
Summary: Mickey Milkovich comes from a long family line of people without soulmates, a rarity in this world. The governments of the world have long debated about how to handle these exceptions. His life, his livelihood, his very being ties into the fact that he'snottied to anyone. There is a lot on the line, and the Milkoviches are just trying to get by the best way they know how.But what will happen when Mickey discovers something that threatens his very way of life?





	

_There comes a time in every young person’s life, sometime in the period between the onset of puberty and the first stages of adulthood. A time when the sun will rise and fall like any other day, except that it is anything but ordinary. Because on that fated day, you will receive your set. Two strings of numbers. The first, appearing on the inside of the wrist. Your soulmate’s number. Located in just the right place where it’s always in sight, in mind, keeping you alert for the day when you meet that special person who’s meant to fulfill and complete you. The second, tucked away behind the curve of your ear. Smaller. Intimate. That’s your number. Meant for your soulmate to find._

_There are, of course, exceptions. The Untethered. Those individuals who don’t have soulmates. In the old days, it was extremely difficult for The Untethered. They were ostracized in society, looked at as freaks or pariahs. In modern times, it has become easier, with the advent of social media and networking providing them with a way to connect and join together. Many have managed to find some success in love and relationships despite lacking in the true, deep soulmate connection._

_An even rarer form are The Unbound. Rather than individuals, they are families comprised of people without soulmates. It is believed that there may be a genetic element or component, but scientific data is limited. The few samples of genetic material that have been provided for research have shown no obvious markers or indicators. And while we’ve yet to rule the possibility out, we have not found any instances within an Unbound family where a family member receives their set._

_With global initiatives moving towards the creation of a soulmate registry, it is important to determine what is to be done regarding The Untethered and Unbound. We cannot simply ignore them. They may be a small minority, roughly estimated around 1% of the world’s population, but their numbers still enter into the tens of millions. We have multiple proposals for consideration. The generation of unclaimed numbers to be provided to those without, a separate registry for The Untethered and Unbound. We are sensitive to the concerns that these initiatives will unfairly target those without soulmates, and we takes those very seriously. Please note that we will not be taking any sort of vote on any measures during today’s session. This is simply to present the facts at hand and discuss the options before us in order to make the best decision we can at a future date._

\----------

There was a crash, and Mickey didn’t even have to look to know that his father had thrown something into the television, effectively silencing the bullshit noise of the UN session they had been watching on TV. He looked anyway, seeing that Terry had hurled a small dumbbell right through the screen. The voice was gone, leaving behind just an electric hum before Iggy reached over and unplugged it. This was the third TV busted in as many months. They really needed to stop watching these sessions. Or Mickey needed to buy his father something softer to throw, like one of those Nerf footballs made of foam.

“These fuckin’ rats,” Terry hissed through gritted teeth. He grabbed his beer and took a long swig, retreating to his room with no further fanfare.

Mickey and his siblings all exchanged glances, staying quiet to not draw Terry’s wrath their way. Terry had always been a tyrant of sorts, a lousy father and generally shitty person, quick with a slap or a punch or even a well placed kick. It had never taken much to set off his temper, but lately it was worse. Much worse. The pressure of what was happening around then was starting to get to him, and he was even quicker to take it out on his kids.

They were The Unbound.

The Milkovich clan came from a long line of unclaimed souls, and they wore it like a badge of honor. Their family had long made their bread and butter in the soulmate business. Or rather, in the anti-soulmate business mostly. Usually people eagerly awaited the unveiling of their sets, feeling the security of knowing their other half was out there in the world waiting for them. The majority of people were happy with the person they were paired with by destiny. But on occasion, there were circumstances where a special skill set was needed to handle soulmate affairs. A person realizing they were paired with someone undesirable. Someone whose individual will was strong enough that it outweighed the strength of the soulmate connection. On rare occasion, even a harmful soulmate that needed to be handled. Sometimes they would help unite soulmates, particularly when people were getting older and somehow still hadn’t found them. But usually it was the opposite, and any and all matters of separating soulmates with some sort of permanence were only entrusted to those who didn’t have them, as they felt no obligation to the natural order of things.

It was a niche market, but that made it profitable. The Milkoviches were not only good at it, they were the best. They were _the_ Unbound family you went to if you needed their help. But with the movements to track those with soulmates and legitimize those without, it was creating a lot of problems for their family. Separating soulmates wasn’t in and of itself illegal. Not yet anyway, though there was definitely a corresponding movement to propose and enact laws in the world’s governments to make it so. But most of the methods that the Milkoviches used to do their jobs were. Kidnapping, assault, bribery, coercion… the occasional murder. Having the spotlight on the issue of soulmates definitely put them under scrutiny, and made it really fuckin’ hard to do their jobs.

Mickey hated the idea of being given some phony number, or being put on some list of society’s defects and rejects. But he almost wished they would just decide _something_ to put an end to all the hoopla about it already. He was grateful, at least, that he came from a family of The Unbound. Terry would never accept Mickey if he knew the truth. The truth that Mickey was gay. It didn’t matter if it was fate, or destiny, or anything of the sort. Terry was a bigot, and a homophobe, and Mickey was fine with being alone. Preferred it, even. It was less complicated and definitely safer.

He lit a cigarette and blew a plume of smoke up towards the ceiling. One by one, his siblings wandered off and left him sitting there alone. He reached into his pocket and dug out a small notebook, where he kept the details of the cases he was assigned.

**1684651814**

**Daniel Madison**

**Brown hair, hazel eyes**

**5’11”, 170 lbs**

Mickey’s target for the day was, supposedly, a nice young man who just couldn’t seem to give up the drugs. Unfortunately, his drug of choice was meth, which alerted Mickey to the very likely fact that he would get violent, no matter how nice he was when he was sober. Daniel’s soulmate, a mousy little woman named Delia, didn’t want to get rid of him. She wanted him to get better, to get treatment, and it was Mickey’s job to facilitate that. Even if he had to beat the message into him a little bit. He checked his backpack to make sure he had some weapons in case he needed extra defense. Nothing big, of course. He wasn’t looking to kill the guy… kill jobs were left to Terry. Just some brass knuckles and a pocket knife. He also skimmed through his notes for Daniel’s known hangouts, including his dealer’s house, and three Southside bars he frequented.

With a grunt, Mickey pushed himself off the couch and hoisted his backpack over his shoulder. He hoped that today would be an easy victory, something he could bring home to tell his father that would take the edge off. If Terry stayed this angry for too long without some good news, it would be a bad situation for everyone.

Mickey got to the El and swiped his Ventra card, waiting on the platform until his train pulled in. He wasn’t going far, only a few stops. But he didn’t really feel like walking. Besides, clients paid for their expenses. Might as well make the most of it. His first stop was at the dealer’s house. Mickey had no trouble finding him, as his own father was a client, as was Mickey once in a blue moon. Stretch, named for the fact that he was a very lanky six and a half feet tall, was a small time dealer, liked to stay under the radar, and was well aware of who the Milkoviches were and what they did. Mickey didn’t bother with pleasantries, or even knocking on Stretch’s door. He barged in the front door, using the element of surprise to his advantage.

Stretch and a few of his associates were in the living room, apparently preparing a delivery of some very clean white looking powder. At the sound of the door popping open, they all reached for their guns, cocking them and pointing them right at Mickey’s chest.

He smirked at Stretch. “If you’re really gonna shoot me, you better do it now.”

Stretch gestured at everyone to drop their weapons, putting his own back on the table. “ _Fuck_ , Milky! You can’t just roll up on a mofo like that. Was about to cap your pasty ass.”

Mickey ignored his admonishment and reached into his pocket, withdrawing a picture and showing it to the group. “You seen him lately? Hear he’s one of yours.”

Stretch sighed. “Aww man, his old lady finally had the shits of him, huh? He’s been on a crash course. You guys poppin’ him?”

“Nah,” Mickey shook his head. “Dumb broad wants to help him. My job’s to haul him outta whatever gutter he’s face down in. You gonna point me in the right direction?”

“Haven’t seen him for a hot minute,” Stretch explained. “I’m out of the meth shit. That crystal is a wreck, man. I don’t want no part of that anymore.” He reached for a joint on the table and lit it, taking a hit and offering it over. Mickey held his hand up to decline. He didn’t use when he was on the clock. Stretch shrugged and took another hit before he continued. “Watch your back when you do find him. Last couple times I seen him, he was tweakin’ pretty bad. Might be a handful.”

“Thanks.” Mickey turned to leave and was almost out the front door before he felt a hand on his shoulder. Stretch had followed him and was pushing something into his hand.

“Take this,” he ordered. “New supply line. Giving samples to a few of our favorite customers. Let your pops know, I know he always likes new product.”

Mickey looked down and saw the small vial Stretch had given him, full of that same white powder. He shoved it in his pocket and gave Stretch a nod of thanks and continued on his way.

The next two stop proved useless as well. Mickey didn’t find him at either location, nor had they seen him for some time. He was starting to get pretty annoyed and assumed the day would be a wash, but there was still one more bar on the list that Mickey hadn’t gotten to yet. If that didn’t pan out, he’d just have to go back to the client and see if she had anything else he could work with. But that would prove unnecessary. When Mickey entered the last location, he spotted Daniel across the room tucked into a booth with a drink. At least, he was pretty sure it was the same guy. Mickey pulled his picture out to be sure, glancing between the two a few times before he was sure. The guy had definitely been hitting the drugs pretty heavy. He’d lost considerable weight, looking quite wiry. His brown hair was unwashed and he had scabs on his cheeks, telltale signs of a tweaker who had picked at his face.

Mickey took a breath to steel himself and moved across the room with purpose, sliding into the opposite side of the booth before Daniel knew what was happening. “Hi Daniel.”

“Fuck are you?” He slurred. Great, he was definitely fucked up.

“Delia sent me.”

Daniel squinted at him. “You one of those soulmate hunters or some shit?” He paused to take a sip of his drink, sloshing it all over his shirt. “You… you gonna get rid of me?”

“Nah man, she want to save your sorry ass.” Mickey reached for him to try to coax him along so that he could be done with this shit already. “C’mon, she’s got a nice setup for you at a rehab, all you gotta do is come with me.”

Daniel swung a fist at Mickey, fast as lightning. Normally Mickey would have been prepared, but the guy seemed so out of it that he just didn’t realize what was happening until his head whipped back. His mouth tasted metallic, the blood from his split lip oozing out right away. Mickey wiped his lip with the back of his hand and reached across the table, grabbing Daniel by the back of the head and smashing his face down on the table. He slid out of the booth and grabbed Daniel’s arm, dragging him out and tossing him on the floor. Mickey quickly straddled the other man while he struggled to buck Mickey off him. But he had lost his advantage, and after a minute or two of fighting, Daniel finally gave up and laid still.

“If I get up, you gonna calm the fuck down?” Mickey asked.

Daniel glared at him, the two staring each other down until he finally looked away. Mickey took that as agreement, and he climbed to his feet. He offered his hand and pulled Daniel up with him.

“Look dude, I really don’t give a fuck what you do, but you’ve got a woman out there who loves your stupid ass.” Mickey tentatively touched his lip again, feeling that it was swollen. The blood, at least, was starting to dry. “Why, I don’t know. But she does. All you gotta do is go to the rehab and give it a shot.”

“Fine,” Daniel mumbled, looking down at his feet and scraping the toe of his shoe along the floor.

Mickey sighed. Some victories were hollow at best. “Let’s get this show on the road then, champ.”

They went outside and Mickey waved down a passing cab. He directed the driver to Delia’s house, keeping a watchful eye on his passenger to make sure that he didn’t try to pull a runner before they got there. He was in the final stretch, and he could practically feel the money burning a hole in his pocket. He just wanted to be done with the case and onto something new. As they pulled up, Mickey could see the nerves building on Daniel’s face, and he wanted to make sure he got ahead of him before Daniel could do something stupid. He tossed a few bills at the driver and got out of the car, rushing around to the other side to get to Daniel before he could take off. Mickey grabbed him above the elbow and pulled him out, slamming the door behind him and leading Daniel to his girlfriend’s front door.

“I can walk by myself,” Daniel murmured through gritted teeth.

“Not takin’ the chance of losing ya in the final stretch,” Mickey retorted.

He dragged Daniel up the few steps and banged on the front door. There was movement inside and the door opened to reveal Delia. Her eyes shone with happy tears when she saw that Mickey hadn’t arrived empty handed.

“Danny!” She reached for him tentatively, waiting until he gave her a nod before she leaned into him and hugged him. “Does this mean you’re going to try to get better?”

Mickey watched him nod into his girlfriend’s shoulder. He patiently waited for them to play out their little reunion, wanting to just get down to business so he could get the hell out of there. Delia told Daniel about the plan and send him inside to pack his things, turning her attention back to Mickey once he was gone.

“I can’t thank you enough for bringing him back,” she gushed.

“Your payment will be more than enough thanks,” Mickey told her.

“Of course!” She retreated for a moment and came back with her purse in hand. “It was a thousand, correct?”

“That was the price,” Mickey agreed as he gestured at his mouth. “But a little more for pain and suffering would be nice.”

“Is a hundred okay?”

“Two hundred would be better.”

Delia nodded and started counting bills from her wallet. Mickey felt a little guilty for a moment, but his father gave them a shit cut from their jobs. Sometimes, you just had to hustle, and Mickey would definitely not be telling his father about the little injury bonus he acquired for himself. She offered him the money, and he counted it himself to make sure she hadn’t tried to short him, but everything was good.

“If he gets into any other problems, I’ll definitely be calling you guys again.” She joked.

“If he gets caught up in any other shit, you dump his ass. Soulmate or not.” Mickey told her. Delia gave him a wave and retreated into the house.

Mickey got back on the train to head home. He separated the two hundred dollars he’d swindled off of Delia and tucked it into his boot. He didn’t want to forget about it and have Terry find it. Mickey also stashed the vial that Stretch gave him inside a small, hidden pocket that Mandy had sewn into his backpack. He decided to keep that for himself, too. When he did get home, he was pleased to see that his father had cooled off from his earlier flare up. He perked up even more when Mickey offered him Delia’s money.

“Good shit kiddo,” Terry told him jovially. His father cuffed him on the back of the neck almost affectionately and Mickey couldn’t help but feel a small swell of pride. He hated himself a little for it, but he took what he could get when it came to his father. Terry peeled a few of the bills and pushed them into Mickey’s palm. “Gave you a little extra this time. Go have a little fun, maybe hit up Garden Spring Spa. Heard that Svetlana bitch is a wild cat.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Mickey had no interest in her or any of the other women at Garden Spring, but maybe he’d pass by just in case his dad sniffed around asking questions. He and Svetlana had a long standing arrangement that was mutually beneficial. She got money for nothing, his ass was covered, everyone won. The more he thought about it, the more Mickey decided that was exactly what he would do. He went into his room and quietly pulled the bed away from the wall. He reached between the mattress and the headboard until he felt the spot where he had cut the mattress open. Inside was a small box. Mickey took it out and opened it, looking at the money he’d been slowly saving up. He gave it a quick count to make sure it was all there and added most of what he’d just brought in, keeping a little pocket money for himself. Mickey updated the total on the small scrap of paper that was also tucked inside, and put everything back the way he’d found it.

Mickey took a shower and got himself cleaned up, thinking that maybe he would go out and let loose a bit after he left Svetlana’s company. He got dressed and straightened the collar of his button down gray shirt, giving himself once last glance of appraisal before finally leaving the house. He decided to walk to Garden Spring, figured he could enjoy the nice Chicago weather before it got too hot and miserable. Mickey smoked a cigarette while he strolled down the street, not in any particular hurry. When he got to Garden Spring, he chucked his cigarette butt in the gutter and pushed the door open.

Sasha, the madam of the joint, greeted him with her usual heavy accent. “Privyet, Misha. Here to see your favorite girl Sveta?”

“The one and only,” he agreed.

Outwardly, Mickey was just a client with a preference. But the truth was that he and Svetlana had formed a strange and unlikely friendship from their odd arrangement. Sasha pushed a bell that would alert Svetlana that she had a customer, and Mickey sat in the small reception area waiting for her to come out and greet him. She finally emerged from the hallway that led to the girls’ rooms, and her eyes lit up when she saw who was waiting for her.

“Misha,” she purred, offering her hand to him.

Mickey took her hand and let her lead him into her private room, disguised as a massage room. She closed and locked the door while he sat down in the only available chair and grabbed a magazine.

“You are dressed nice today,” she noted. “You are going out after this, yes?”

Mickey shrugged noncommittally. “Might hit up a spot or two, see what’s up.”

“Or _who’s_ up,” Svetlana corrected.

She climbed up onto the massage table and Mickey rolled his eyes. He knew what would be coming next. Svetlana started rocking her body back and forth on the table so that it would make some sort of noise, enough for anyone listening to think they were actually doing something. She threw in a moan now and then, occasionally feeling herself up and smiling devilishly at Mickey when she saw that he was uncomfortable

“Why’re you always so over the top huh?” He hissed under his breath, quiet, as not to be overheard.

“Have to make mistress think something is happening so she doesn’t tell papa that his boy can’t get it up for Russian hooker,” Svetlana reasoned. With one final moan, she got up and approached Mickey, mussing his hair a little and squishing his cheeks. He tried to pull back but she held tight. “Cheeks should be a little pink, like you worked hard just now.”

Svetlana grabbed a water bottle she had next to her bed and poured a little in her hands, rubbing her neck and hair so that she looked exerted too. Mickey wanted to be irritated with the theatrics, but she was a hell of a better liar than he was, and admittedly had probably saved his ass on more than a few occasions. He pulled out his wallet and took out a bill, leaving it on the table for her.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” she laughed. “Let me walk you out.”

Once again, Mickey allowed Svetlana to lead him down the hallway. When they got to the front, Svetlana leaned over and kissed his cheek.

“Goodbye, Misha.” Her voice was flirty and he fought his urge to give her a sarcastic reply, knowing that Sasha was watching. Instead, he gave her a small smile and slipped out the door. The last thing he heard was the women speaking in Russian to each other.

Now that he had that out of the way, he was ready to get to the main attraction of the night. Mickey hated the gay clubs, but he knew they were the best place to find someone to hook up with for the night. It was still not very late, and the clubs wouldn’t be pumping for a little longer yet, so he decided to take the train to give things time to pick up. He went to the El and caught the next train available, people watching and spacing out until he got to Boystown. He got off the train and made his way down to the street level.

The first club Mickey approached turned him off almost immediately. Just the looks of the crowd outside in line did nothing for him. He walked past and down a couple of blocks. The next place looked a bit more promising. He got in line, slowly creeping his way up and up until he was at the front and showing the bouncer his ID. Mickey entered and pushed his way through the crowd until he got to the bar, waiting for his turn to order and then taking his drink and looking for a good vantage point. He soon found a spot, good views of the dance floor and one of the bar areas, a perfect place to scope guys out.

He caught a few checking him out, finding one reason or another to rule them out. One was too blonde, which did nothing for him. One just wasn’t very good looking. One was sort of creepy. Mickey thought the night might be turning into a bust, but then he spotted a guy. The dude was about his height, broad shoulders, short cropped dark hair, handsome face. The two of them stared at each other, a silent challenge. When it was clear that neither of them were going to back down, the guy approached.

“Wanna dance?” The guy asked him. He had a nice voice, deep.

“I don’t dance,” Mickey told him.

He looked at Mickey curiously. “What are you doin’ in a club, then?”

“Oh, I find plenty else to do here.” His answer was tongue in cheek, but it had the desired effect if the look on the stranger’s face was any indication.

The guy leaned in close to Mickey’s ear. “That so, huh?”

“You wanna keep askin’ me questions about what I do,” Mickey challenged, “Or do you wanna go find out the answer?”

That was a good enough signal for the guy, and he cocked his head towards the back of the club. Mickey nodded and let the guy walk ahead as he followed him through the room and down a back hallway. There was an emergency exit at the end, but before they even made it that far, the guy had pushed Mickey against the wall and cupped his crotch. Mickey moaned and rolled his hips, creating more friction between himself and the guy’s hand. He felt a hickey being sucked under his jawbone and leaned his head back, letting himself be touched, palming the guy to get him hard and ready too. Mickey reached into his pocket and found the vial that Stretch had given him. No better time than the present to find out if Stretch’s promises lived up to the hype.

“Want a little pick me up?” Mickey asked, dangling the vial between them so the guy could see what he was holding.

“Sure,” he replied, stopping what he was doing.

Mickey unscrewed the cap carefully, making sure not to spill anything. It had a small spoon attached to the inside, and when he slowly pulled it up there was a scoop of the powder sitting on top just waiting for them. Mickey was nothing if not polite in strange ways, so it only made sense that he would offer it to his new friend first. The guy leaned forward until Mickey had the spoon in place and sniffed hard, wiping at his nose after to make sure there was no sign of it. Mickey dug the spoon back in and withdrew it again, this time for himself. He screwed the vial closed and tucked it back into his pocket for safekeeping, reaching for the stranger again and continuing what they had started. He knew from experience that it would take only a few minutes for things to kick in, and he wanted to be ready to ride it all out and enjoy it.

As the drugs started taking effect, the guy unbuttoned and unzipped Mickey’s pants, turned him around and pushed him into the wall. Mickey felt a hand slide under his boxers, grabbing his ass and teasing along his entrance. Mickey was feeling good, euphoric, and wanted the stranger to fuck him already.

“Let’s go back there,” Mickey demanded. “Don’t got all night.”

There was a click of a bottle cap and then a lubed finger pushing into him, working quickly to loosen him up just enough to take it. When he heard the tearing sound of a condom wrapper, Mickey braced himself against the wall and smiled.

Getting to fuck around and not get attached was great. Who needed that soulmate bullshit anyway?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Tumblr](http://grumblesandmumbles.tumblr.com)!


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